Post ep for 47 Seconds. Ignoring the blonde in the promo because I want to.
He shows up at the precinct the next time she calls him for a case, even though he knows he could probably use some space. His phone skitters across his bedside table, it's still dark outside and he was at least pretending to sleep. The light from the display illuminates the ceiling, but he doesn't reach for it, he knows who it is. No one else calls him at 4:30 in the morning.
It's about to go to voicemail, jumping one last time across the mahogany of the table when he finally grabs it, the burning in his chest altogether more present then it ever has been. She always pulls a reaction from him when she calls, excitement, curiosity, tingly business in the bottom of his stomach, but this feels more like hot dread. He knows now, knows that she's known all along, that he spilled his guts to her and she knows it.
He thought she loved him too.
The more he thinks about it, the less certain he is either way.
Nothing makes any sense.
"He's different," Beckett says, gesturing vaguely with her wine glass. "It's like he's pulling away."
"He's tired of waiting." Lanie looks too knowing, too I told you so and Beckett feels a trickling nervousness start to squeeze around her insides. What if she's too late? She plops herself down on the couch next to her friend, rubbing the base of her glass with her thumb.
"We kissed once, you know." It just pops out, she's not even sure where she's going with this, but Lanie looks interested, leans forward with the kind of look that screams what?
She reigns herself in though. "And when did this happen?"
"A year ago?" Beckett takes a sip of her wine, hiding behind the glass because this is not something you keep from someone like Lanie.
She is predictably outraged. "A year? Kate Beckett."
"It's not – " she starts, stops, starts again. "We were undercover, it wasn't a big deal."
"If it's not a big deal then why didn't you tell me about it?"
Beckett pauses, runs a hand across her forehead and over her hair. "Lanie, what if I waited too long?"
"Do you love him?" The question is a simple one but it ignites a physical reaction in Beckett like she's never felt before. It's like the words are burning their way through her body and up her throat and then before she can stop them, they're springing off her tongue.
"I'm completely in love with him," she whispers, the weight of the words falling heavy in the silent room.
"Tell him."
He feels naked walking into the precinct without coffee in his hands, can't stop the way his heart drops when he sees the look on her face when she notices he doesn't have it. He tries to categorize her expression: she loves me? she loves me not?
In which category does caffeine disappointment go into?
"Hey," she says, throwing a smile onto her face that doesn't quite reach her eyes, but then she's grabbing her jacket and sliding her arms into it hurriedly. "I'm glad you're here, can I buy you a cup of coffee?"
('I'm glad you're here' – platonically glad? Romantically glad? Professionally glad? He's going to drive himself crazy.)
"Do you have a lead on the case?" he asks.
She stills for a moment and then does that thing where she scrunches her nose really tightly. She's been doing that a lot lately, and he thought it was a bit of a gateway to the things she wants to say and normally wouldn't, but now he can't decide whether all of his intense observations about her have been dead wrong all this time. If he could read her feelings this incorrectly, he can't trust anything he sees with his eyes. She surprises him by being direct, though.
"No, no leads."
"Oh, well, I just came by to see if you needed any help on the case." It's an awkward attempt at distance, trying to prove to himself that if she doesn't love him, he can turn off his feelings for her, do this just for his overblown sense of justice, but she cuts him to the quick in exactly one sentence.
"Please Castle?"
Her voice goes soft and her eyebrows rise as she fixes him with one of those looks she's been giving him for months and his chest feels like it's on fire again. He feels like a pirate on his way to walk the plank, alive but also already dead and if she wants to buy him coffee and tell him how much she doesn't love him back, he thinks he may just check out for a while. No matter how she feels, that's not a conversation he ever wants to have. He can't tell her no though, can't switch off his feelings as easily as he had boasted to his mother that he could, so he turns, facing his body toward the elevator.
"Okay."
They stop at their favorite coffee place, but she orders their drinks to go. Castle's fidgety beside her, and she swallows thickly as she hands over his cup, trying to catch his eyes. Their fingers brush and he literally jerks away from her. She wants to cry.
"Back to the precinct?" he asks quietly, taking a sip when she knows it's going to burn his tongue, but he needs an excuse for moving his hand.
Her voice is thick when she answers. "Actually I was thinking we could take a walk?"
"Don't want to keep you from work."
She reaches for his forearm as they spill out onto the sidewalk, surrounded by people but she can't take her eyes off of him. "You're more important than work." His eyes widen when she says it and she feels herself stop breathing. It's not what she meant to say, she's not even sure if it's true, but she's desperate now, losing him faster than she can grab hold and she has to talk to him before whatever has changed in him changes for good and she loses her chance forever. She sets down her coffee on the railing outside and he squints at her, gets serious and then sets his down too, settling in to say whatever has been on his mind.
"I heard you," he blurts, pulling his arm back out of her grasp. They're doing this on the sidewalk in front of a Starbucks and isn't that her line?
"What – "
"I know that you heard me, heard what I said to you when you got shot."
The past few days flick past the back of her eyes as she finally clicks his strange behavior into place. It's embarrassingly obvious, he was at the precinct when she was interrogating that suspect about the bomb, left her a coffee but didn't stick around. All of the pulling away, the cold shoulder. She hadn't wanted to put the pieces together.
He keeps talking before she can say a word. "Let me just save you this awkward and embarrassing conversation Beckett, you didn't tell me for a reason, I said it when I thought you were dying, let's go back to work."
She's slackjawed as she listens to him talk, paralyzed because she can't decide what she wants to do first. She wants to hit him for thinking she could possibly have made this decision so flippantly, she wants to tell him it meant everything to her, she wants to take it back, she wants to hear it again. Instead she whispers, "Did you mean it?"
He looks furious, a second away from stalking off down the sidewalk and away from her for good. People are giving them sidelong glances as they walk past, this is not the place for this.
"Did I – did I mean it?"
"You never – " she stops speaking when her voice gets louder than is socially acceptable, bites her bottom lip in frustration, and then pushes his chest. He catches her wrists and then they're stumbling down the alley to their left, as alone as they're going to get in the middle of New York City. "You never said it again," she whispers harshly. He's still holding onto her wrists as he watches her, and she can feel him boiling just under the surface. The night he told her to drop her mom's case is the only time he's ever lost his temper with her, and she can feel that kind of reaction waiting to pounce on her again, he's fuming.
"Did I need to say it, Beckett? I showed up at the precinct every day, even after this summer, after – " he stops and the pain he's been holding back shines brightly in his eyes. She almost can't believe how much she's hurt him. "I thought my feelings were pretty clear."
"I didn't mean to not tell you that I heard you."
He swallows and his eyes slide shut. They've both been dreading this conversation for too long.
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"I just, I wasn't ready. I wanted to solve my mom's case first, and then I thought about telling you a hundred times but by then it had been months, and how do I tell you I heard you without hurting you, Castle? I didn't…I didn't know what to say."
She watches his jaw clench, and she's sure she's just digging herself a deeper hole because to her own ears, it still sounds like she's rejecting him. For the first time in her life, Beckett's impulse is to press closer and not back away, she has to make him understand. Her hands jump up to his face, cupping his cheeks as his fingers are still loosely linked around her wrists and then his eyes meet hers, so stormy and blue and she can't breathe because there are tears in them that are her fault and it's just not okay.
"Castle," she whispers, her own voice thick with emotion. His eyes slide shut again and he's sure this is the moment that will break him forever. "I am so in love with you." Her voice is all air, caught on a sob that barely makes it out of her throat and then their foreheads are crushed together and she doesn't know which one of them is pulling, or if both of them are, but they're touching and she can feel a wet trail down her cheek and she doesn't know who it belongs to.
His lips ghost across her cheek as he breathes words against her skin. "I don't know if I believe you."
Her throat closes at the doubt in his voice and she crushes his hair in her fist and then tugs his head back. "Look at me, look at me, Castle." He's slow, drags his nose against hers for a fraction of a second and then their eyes lock and she tries her hardest to just feel.
Her face is a mess of emotion as he watches her, her eyes bright with tears unshed, cheeks splotchy and pink. She's gripping him hard, he can feel her desperation and it feels real, it feels like his, he wants to believe her so badly.
"You never said anything," he starts softly, not quite an acceptance but it's all he can give until he's sure.
He watches her dart her eyes and then come back to him. "I'm not good at this." It's an excuse and she knows it. "I was scared," and then, "I want this too much." He feels the relief thread through her as she says it, knows it for the admission it is, the risk she's taking. She's waited too long to tell it to him, but that doesn't make it untrue.
"I thought you didn't feel the same way. I thought – "
"I'm sorry," she breathes, trying to hold it together. Her hands are still wrapped around him, anchoring them together.
He watches the emotions battle across her face for a minute, naked and for his eyes alone. She's not hiding anymore. "We are terrible at this."
She gasps at his joke a little bit, a sharp pull of air he assumes is relief, and then it's her turn to slide her eyes shut and then he's grabbing for her face and it's wet and fast and they're kissing, truly kissing for the first time and she tastes like salt as his tongue, still burnt from his coffee, meets the fullness of her bottom lip. They're both crying more than a little bit as they pull away, smiling and kissing and clutching each other. He lets her go after one more swift flick of his eyes, he's not entirely sure he's not just dreamed this all up.
"Is this really happening?" Her voice sounds like Christmas and he wants to never let her out of his sight again.
"Tell me again."
She slides a flat palm across his chest, anchors herself to him, looks him straight in the eyes. "Richard Castle, I am stupidly in love with you."
(she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me.)